Compendium
by h0bbes
Summary: a collection of Upstairs Downstairs drabbles
1. drink

Sometimes there are quiet moments, when the war doesn't seem so heavy on all of their backs and they can find time to laugh with one another and hold onto those memories.

They even find time for a party, albeit a small one.

Blanche has a birthday and Agnes insists Pritchard pull from their dwindled wine cellar and the two of them retire to the study in their stockings and drink through two, three bottles.

Or at least Agnes does. Blanche watches her as she lays her head back against the cushion, rubbing the bridge of her nose just between her eyes.

It's easy to see Agnes' source of discomfort. She's stopped wearing her ring again. Blanche found her sniffling in the bathroom last week. Her strong facade has an ugly crack in it, which is unfortunate. They are at war, there is no time to dwell.

She does not dare tell Agnes that. Instead Blanche saucily offers her lap instead, only to see Agnes leap at the opportunity and curl into her. She's content to play with the small dark curls at the back of her neck, petting almost as they both stare into the pitiful fire.

"I got you something." Agnes says. Or at least Blanche _thinks_ that is what she says because half of it runs together. "Did you?" she responds, as if to a child.

"I know you said I mustn't but…I couldn't help myself." Agnes looks positively devious as she holds it in front of her face, Blanche can see the smirk in her eyes. "May I open it?"

Agnes only giggles and nods. Blanche has to pry fingers off of it, leaving Agnes to squirm in her lap as she opens it. It's a necklace, a simple one, but beautiful. Blanche is very touched, if the prick of tears in the corners of her eyes are any indication. "Thank you" is uttered in near whisper.

Agnes giggles again, crooking her finger forward like she wants to tell Blanche a secret. Blanche blames the drink for not seeing it sooner, being too slow to react when Agnes instead meets her halfway, in the sloppiest (and chastest) kiss she's ever received.

"I think I've had too much to drink." says the brunette, covering her face in her hands.

Blanche is dumbstruck. "Yes, yes I think you have, dearest."


	2. shorts

Agnes' cheeks are bright pink from the exertion, and Blanche grins so much that she has to duck her head away and squeeze Pamela's hand a little tighter. They look awfully silly but she's rarely seen Agnes so happy, so animated. It's the second hand warmth of a friend's happiness that makes the skin under Blanche's collar itch. She keeps telling herself that until they return home.

Poor Eunice yawns the whole walk back and Beryl takes her by the arm, slipping down the steps to the service entrance and leaving them together at the front door. Blanche expects them to part company then, for Agnes to wish them goodnight and be done with it but she's still smiling and tugs a little on the elbow of Blanche's coat.

"Thank you." she says, and Blanche doesn't see anything but the rouge of her lipstick. "Thank you for coming."

"Agnes, I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

Agnes seems touched, in more ways than one. Blanche doesn't have time to register the kiss on her cheek until well after it happens and Agnes stoops to kiss Pamela as well. "Goodnight." she says, running up the stairs in those silky shorts.

Blanche doesn't sleep well that night, palm pressed to her face as if she could imprint the impression of those lips.


	3. sylvia

Sylvia almost gives them away when she answers the door to the school herself after hours, smiling widely at Blanche, who quickly tugs Agnes forward like a buffer.

"Lady Holland!" Sylvia was breathless, looking for words. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"I hope this isn't a bad time," Agnes says, looking up and down the door, "It is a swinging surprise, really."

Sylvia is staring at Blanche, though, smiling a little. "No, no trouble at all. Come in, come in."

They are very quiet, sneaking down the quiet corridor's into Miss Fuller's modest parlor. They converse for a little while sipping tea and gin until Agnes asks where the powder room is and Sylvia giggles, "Just down the hall."

They're like a pair of magnets as soon as she is out of the room, clinging to one another. "I've missed you." whispered against the side of a neck, the graze of lips and teeth clack and desperate hands pressing into grooves—the right ones. Sylvia tucks her hair back in place, a hand pressed to her cheek.

"I'm sorry I did not come alone."

"I think Lady Holland is quite infatuated with you." she teases, and Blanche frowns. "No."

"Yes." Sylvia smirks at her behind her tea cup.

"Yes what?" asks Agnes from the door, eyes wide and inquisitive. She sits between the two of them and wrinkles her nose. "Blanche…what have you done to your hair?"

Sylvia looks positively devious over Agnes' shoulder as she leans over to tuck it back in order. Blanche sighs. "Thank you."


	4. celebration

They watch the sun rise. It's the most refreshing feeling to know that it rises on a positive note. Sleeping children off a midnight train, bleary eyed adults who take them in their arms. Blanche asks if she has anything stronger than tea when Sylvia paces back and forth, wanting to check on the girls again.

She's a strong woman, Miss Fuller. She pulls out a bottle of single malt and they make a considerable dent in it before Sylvia stops pacing and instead sits close to her on the settee, her head lolling.

"You're incredibly brave." Blanche says, "Taking on children like that."

"They deserve it. All children deserve to be with people that will love and cherish them." she stares into the fire. "Do you have children, Doctor Mottershead?"

"No." Blanche smiles sadly, "No I do not."

"They are as much yours as mine tonight, then." Slyvia sleeps tucked up against Blanche's arm, half empty scotch glass still in her hand.


	5. fighting

"I don't much like fighting," Agnes muses aloud as she watches young boys scrap in the yard. They're on holiday as she calls it but Blanche knows that she aches to see her children again. Even now however she hides from them, watching them and the others from the yard. She can't quite face them yet.

Blanche joins her at the window, flipping her long braid over one shoulder and sighs. "Boys will be boys." she should know better to use on Agnes, this _new_ Agnes. They join hands and it is Agnes who sighs this time. "And Men will be men, selfish and cruel as ever."

She does not wish for Hector to be that.

Agnes keeps him as far from Hallam as she can when she thinks that no one is looking but Blanche notices. She fears something may rub off.

Blanche tips her chin to the side with one finger, capturing Agnes' protests but doesn't relinquish her grip until the younger woman relaxes.

"Go say hello. They _miss_ you."


	6. intimate

Many people see Lady Agnes as a light on a pedestal, Blanche knows this. The way she carries herself in public is different from the way she walks around at home. She's ramrod straight walking out the door, one foot in front of the other— she's been taught this, that it was important. Blanche much prefers Agnes when she is inside Eaton Place and they are not entertaining and she pads around the house in stockings that slide down on one ankle and the way she sighed when she took her tea by the parlor window.

Blanche loved the imperfections, the little cracks in Lady Holland's facade. She loved Agnes.

Mostly she loved Agnes in her bed. It was too small for the two of them, the guest room at the back of the house. Never the master bedroom. Too many memories. So she'd climb into Blanche's instead. She doesn't remember when the kisses started. But she does remember the first time they—

"How do I touch you?" Blanche doesn't understand the question and is loathe to move away from her attentions against Agnes' collar bone and the breathless sighs that escape from her mouth every time her tongue finds somewhere sensitive. Agnes' lips are well kissed, swollen and parted as she wriggles in earnest away from Blanche and shoving her hands into her lap. "What do you mean?" her eyebrows knitted together. Agnes went pink in the face.

"I mean how do I touch you…intimately?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "The same way you'd touch yourself."

"What?"

"Take yourself in hand."

Still nothing. Oh dear. "Masturbation, Agnes."

"I don't do that." a sigh. Blanche rubs the bridge of her nose, pulling the hem of her night gown back down from where it had wandered up her legs. "Would you like me to teach you?"

"I…" Agnes is quiet for a long while. "Yes." She looked determined. As determined as a small dog shivering at the end of her bed.

"Come here." the younger woman crawls back up the bed cautiously, sitting back on her heels, curiosity getting the better of her. Blanche managed to get her to lean forward, stealing another light kiss. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." it's the most determined she's heard her sound in a long time. Blanche tugs the hem of Agnes' night dress up until it bunches around her thighs, a cream colored drape that she slipped her hand under, trailing her nails down the soft expanse of inner thigh. An aphrodisiac it was to hear her breath catch, words caught in her throat.

She wants to ask if Hallam has ever done this for her, but knows better. The pain that would fill Agnes' eyes is not worth it. Blanche can tell that if he did, it was not often. _Men._ Agnes looks at her through half lidded eyes. "What-what's next?"

"You have to be very gentle, dear. We are finely tuned creatures you and I."

"Show me."


End file.
